cyian

A continuation featuring: Luocha!

Part 1

Notes: pregnancy mention

It must have been many years since you stepped foot into the capital, then you were still a young princess carrying out orders from the late Empress, your mother. Then it had been a calculating princess working against her sisters to stand out, in her return she was the still newly ascended Empress here to enjoy The First Bloom Festival in public as a testament to her ascension. The First Bloom was a grand one meant to celebrate the return of spring, in the past you had only taken part in planning the Summer celebrations on orders of your mother, much to your displeasure.

Gracing the festival with your appearance in the year of your ascension would be a good move, you had thought. Normally there were separate celebrations for those in the Imperial Palace for your family but this would possibly be the one time in a while where you would celebrate it outside instead, for the praise of the people you suppose.

Dressed in ceremonial robes of deep violet and gold, you stood upon an elevated pavilion overlooking the central square. Fireworks cracked against the night sky, illuminating the swirling dancers below. The dancers and their silk ribbons flashed like rivers of light, twisting and curling to the music. You rarely appeared before your people, having spent most of your youth in the palace’s secluded halls but tonight, you allowed yourself this indulgence, even if it was for your own benefit of seeming humble to your people to spend a holiday with them, it was nice to witness the joy of your empire firsthand.

Among you sat the council of the current mayor, your concubines were encouraged to go off and perform charity in the festival's events, therefore you were surrounded by mostly government officials who gathered to spend the evening with you. You blamed your dizzy state on them however, you really did make great attempts to spend your company with those of high birth but you would no doubt enjoy yourself more if they did not.. pester you the entire time on stupid things in order to grow friendly with you.

“Ah, it seems even the heavens will celebrate the return of spring with new life,” the man’s voice murmured, when you looked up you saw a blond, a beauty in fact, his eyes reminded her of emeralds and his hair fell below his shoulders. You noticed his eyes flicking toward your stomach and you raised your brow at his boldness.

You turned your head, raising a brow. The speaker was one of the mayor’s male companions- a courtesan, perhaps, or a favored attendant. You recalled seeing his face next to the mayor’s earlier today. He was certainly handsome enough for the role, though his attire did not quite match that of a typical servant. Bold too, too bold.

You chose not to take offense considering the light heartedness of the holiday and instead you replied to him, “I think you're too pretty to make bold assumptions like that, much less think about them.”

He only smiled at you and nodded, “As your majesty says.” And paid his attention back to the mayor, walking over to her.

The exchange was brief, barely a ripple in the night’s festivities. You naturally didn't think much of him for the rest of the evening.

.

By dawn, you were on your knees, emptying the contents of your stomach into a porcelain basin. The queasiness in your stomach had worsened since you went to bed last night, and when you rose, the world spun around you. A physician was summoned immediately. The verdict did not take long.

“Your Majesty,” the elderly doctor had said earlier after his examination, bowing low. “You are with child, almost two months now.”

The chamber fell into stunned silence. Then, murmurs rippled through your attendants. A pregnancy? So soon after your ascension? It had only been months since. The news would send shockwaves through the court.

Wiping the contents from your lips with a silk handkerchief and exhaling slowly, you only said, “Bring me the man from last night.”

The attendants hesitated. It was assumed that he had gravely offended the Empress with his comment. Was she going to punish him?

When the man was finally brought into your presence, he was composed, hands folded in quiet obedience. If he was afraid, he did not show it.

You studied him for a long moment before allowing a rare smile to curl your lips.

“Tell me,” you mused, tilting your head, “how did you know before even I did?”

The man met your gaze, neither meek nor defiant, merely certain.

“A flower knows when spring has come,” he said simply.

The man did not waver under your gaze, nor did he shrink away like most would before an Empress. If anything, there was a glimmer of amusement in his expression, as though he had been expecting this exchange.

You, for all your regal composure, found yourself intrigued. Men in this empire were raised to be demure, their words measured, their presence delicate. Yet here he stood, unflinching, speaking as if they were equals.

Your lips curled. “And where, I wonder, did you find such charm? To speak so openly before a woman, even seemingly comparing yourself to a flower, before your Empress?”

The man’s smile was slight, almost teasing. “Perhaps I was simply raised without the sense to know fear.”

A soft hum of amusement left you. “Is that so?” You let your fingers lazily trail along the embroidery of your sleeve, gaze sharp despite the casual gesture. “Then I wonder… would the mayor like to see one of her men charming her Empress so boldly?”

“I am nothing to the mayor, Your Majesty,” he said smoothly. “Only a passing healer. She was unwell some time ago, and this is merely my payment—a place to rest until I set off again.”

You raised a brow. A healer? That certainly explained a few things. The confidence, the observant gaze, the way he had spoken of your pregnancy as though it were an obvious truth.

A healer, then. Not a courtesan. Not some foolish servant who had spoken out of turn.

And he was charming.

You took a slow step forward, amusement flickering in your eyes. “A healer, yet one who diagnoses ailments before the patient even notices them,” you mused. “How fortunate.”

Your smirk deepened, and with a flick of your fingers, you turned to one of your attendants. “Inform the mayor that I am borrowing his guest for the rest of the day.”

Then, with a glance back at the man, you added smoothly, “Since you seem to be such a seasoned doctor, it would be a shame not to keep you around a little longer, wouldn’t it?”

He said nothing for the moment. And then, he smiled, as though he had expected this all along.

Extra: Interacting with his Empress afterwards..

Silken curtains fluttered as a cool breeze swept through the open balcony, carrying with it the faint sounds of the imperial garden beyond. Water trickling from the carved inner fountains, the rustle of wind through flowering nearby trees, the distant sound of attendants’ feet. The scent of pleasant burning coal paired with a beautiful man, it was all you needed for the night.

Seated atop a divan accompanied with fine brocade, you idly traced the rim of your jade wine cup, your gaze resting on the blond man standing before you.

Or rather, lounging before you on his own divan, utterly relaxed in the presence of the most powerful woman in the empire.

It was still an amusing thought, even now. When you had first met him during the Spring Festival, he had been nothing more than a passing healer, a man who had dared to speak freely in your presence. And yet here he was, standing in your palace, not as a physician, not as a mere guest, but as yours.

“You’re rather comfortable for someone who should be offering his Empress proper greetings,” you mused, sipping from your cup, watching him over the rim.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, stepping forward, but he did not kneel as tradition dictated. He never did. “Would it please Your Majesty if I performed the ritual properly?” His voice carried that same knowing lilt, teasing yet respectful–just enough to keep his head on his shoulders.

You sighed, setting your cup down. “No. It would bore me.”

He chuckled again, stopping just before you, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He was dressed as befitted a favored concubine; robes of deep indigo and silver, his long hair bound with a golden clasp gifted by your own hand. It is not that he did not look the part of an Imperial Concubine, more rather the way he wore it as if he still had freedom. Composed but never restrained.

“I heard you made quite the impression today.”

“You ought to make the load heavier on servants if rumors reach your ears this fast.” His reply was instant. Not a trace of humility or shame.

“You do not deny it?”

“This depends.”

You exhaled, feeling equally exasperated and entertained. This wasn't the only thing he did then.

“The High Twelfth Princess’ Consort-” you stopped then narrowed your eyes at him, not sharp enough to be malice, “My younger sister’s consort almost fainted when you grabbed his wrist so suddenly-”

“Pulse reading is normal.”

You raised your brow at his arrogant reply, towards you of all people, “-which caused the poor man to become frightened as you approached him so suddenly.”

Luocha tilted his head, “I am wounded.” He approached you closer and knelt to you, laying his hands on your lap then placing his head on top of said hands, his eyes gazed up at you, “I cannot be blamed for not knowing he was so fragile beforehand, yes?”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curled. He was a menace, truly. When you had first taken him into the palace, you had wondered if he would wilt under the weight of gilded captivity.

But no, he had thrived.

“Shameless,” you muttered.

He grinned. “Only in service to my Empress.”

A laugh escaped you. You reached for your wine cup, sipping slowly before saying, “Perhaps I should keep you locked away after all. My ministers would be relieved if their husbands weren’t at risk of fainting in your presence.” Your smile widened before you could feel it, “Better yet, I should have your hands removed to make their assurance grounded.”

He pushed himself further on your lap. Too close and too bold but he had already crossed that line a long time ago. The best path was forward.

“Would that not be a tragedy?” he murmured. “To cripple such a talented physician, when his skills could be put to better use?”

You set your cup aside, eyes gleaming. “Better use, you say?”

“Mm.” He leaned in just slightly, enough for you to catch the faint trace of fragrant herbal oils lingering on his skin.

His voice then became low, “Surely Your Majesty finds my hands most useful?”

Sunday hated you.

An irritation, a grain of sand lodged somewhere in his skull, scratching at the edges of his thoughts. You were the kind of person he should have been able to ignore, an unrestrained thing that moved through the world without care or consequence.

You were loud. Thoughtless. You talked too much, laughed too hard, threw yourself into life without hesitation. You said things that should have been embarrassing, acted on impulse, lived like you didn’t carry a single ounce of shame in your body.

And people loved you for it.

He saw it in the way their eyes lit up when you spoke, in the way they leaned in closer, in the way your presence filled a room like sunlight spilling through open windows.

“It’s amazing,” they’d say.

“you’re just so free.”

That word made his stomach knot.

He had spent his whole life learning to hold back. To control himself, to measure his words, to weigh every action before he took it. He was good. He was disciplined. He did everything right.

And yet,

He told himself it was just frustration.

But then it got worse.

Because suddenly, he was watching for you before he even realized he was doing it. His eyes found you in crowded rooms, tracked the sound of your laughter through the halls, sought out the places you lingered.

He hated you. 

Hated you.

(So why couldn’t he look away?)

The first time you really saw him, you were at a party.

He was there as a representative for Gopher. He didn’t like parties, too much noise, too many people, too much chaos. But you were there, so he was there.

You were in the center of it all, as always, laughing too loudly, leaning in too close, spinning the room around you like you were the axis it all revolved around.

And then,

your gaze flickered.

Landed on him.

You tilted your head, studying him like he was something out of place.

“Do you even like being here?” you asked.

He should have said no. Should have walked away.

But instead, his mouth moved on its own.

“Do you?”

For the first time, you hesitated. It was small, barely there but he saw it.

Then you grinned.

“Touché.”

And just like that, you turned away, the moment slipping between his fingers like sand.

But he stood there, frozen, breath caught in his chest.

Because for the first time,

You had seen him.

And now, he needed you to do it again.

After that, it became unbearable.

You were in his head all the time, your voice curling around his thoughts, your presence a ghost in his lungs.

And the more he thought about you, the angrier he got.

Because you didn’t deserve to be happy.

You were selfish. Reckless. Wrong.

And yet, you had everything he had to get by being everything he was not.

That wasn’t fair.

That wasn’t right.

So he started testing the limits of your awareness. Standing closer. Speaking up when you were near. Watching for the moment your gaze landed on him, the flicker of recognition in your eyes when you realized he was always there.

You didn’t push him away.

And that was your mistake.

The second time you spoke, you were alone.

A rare thing. 

A precious thing.

You were sitting outside, legs stretched out, staring up at the sky.

He didn’t think.

He didn't plan. 

Just moved.

“You look bored,” he said.

You turned your head, blinking up at him. Then, you smiled.

“Didn’t think you were the kind to talk to people like me.”

His pulse was a slow, steady drum in his ears.

“What kind is that?”

You shrugged. “The kind you don’t like.”

The words hit deeper than they should have.

You knew.

You knew.

And you still weren’t afraid.

Instead, you scooted over, patting the space beside you.

An invitation,

He sat down.

And something inside him unraveled.

It should have ended there.

But it didn’t.

Because now you spoke to him first. Now you noticed him. Now you threw him into your world like he belonged there.

And that was the moment he realized,

You weren’t untouchable.

You weren’t above him.

You weren’t a god, weren’t an idol, weren’t something to admire from a distance.

You were flesh and blood.

A person.

A thing.

And things could be taken apart.

Bit by bit.

Piece by piece.

You thought you were free. Thought you were untamed, untouchable, unstoppable.

But you weren’t.

You were just something that hadn’t been caged yet.

And if he couldn’t be you,

Then he would break you,

Take everything that was you.

Until there was nothing left but him.

Warnings: slavery, pregnancy, birthing is implied, somewhat loss of bodily autonomy?, unedited.

Notes: I'm sorry if I mischaracterized him in anyway. This was also unedited, if it sounds disjointed and sounds like word vomit, I'm also sorry for that.

***************************************

You had been with Alina since birth, the daughter of a slave who had served Alina’s mother. It was simply how things were, how they had always been. You were bound by blood, by law, and by custom to serve Alina as her personal maidservant. The years blurred by, one after the other, until it felt like there was no distinction between them. Alina, bright eyed and full of laughter, and You, quiet and watchful, their lives intertwined in a twisted fashion.

The royal estate was a sprawling grandeur built on generations of unyielding wealth. Alina had been raised here, swaddled in luxury from the moment she took her first breath. It was a life that glittered on the surface, but beneath that gleaming light, there was a steady, unspoken shadow and it was one that kept You in constant service.

And then Alina would reach the marriageable age, your service would not end. Unlike transported goods, noble brides had the chance of choosing certain parts of the dowry, like handmaidens or a few pieces of jewelry from their home to take with them to their new household. Unsurprisingly, your work will be continuing in a foreign land. To serve your mistress until death is an honor anyhow.

The wedding was a spectacle of formality, a show for guests, and Alina stood in the center of it, hands trembling in the silk of her gown, but her gaze always drawn to Haitham. The man she was to marry stood tall, his face unreadable, his eyes were distant. Alina spoke little to him during the ceremony, and Haitham barely seemed to notice her at all. It was clear to her that he was a man bound by duty, just as she was. His gaze flitted between the guests, his attention scattered, until the moment finally arrived for them to retire to their shared chambers.

That night, as both women stood in front of the vanity, the new bride spoke of her newly wed, “He looked not at me but at that book, in the middle of celebrations.” She said in her brittle tone, “he does not want me.”

“Mayhaps, he felt the shy of chastity?” You responded.

“He has claimed he mourns the death of his dear mother, I see this as no proper attitude of the head of a family like this.” Alina sneered, “pushing back proper duties like this for personal feelings is something you do not see in men. Aye, this marriage is already off to a bad start. I should write to my father already that he has married me to a dwindling woman and not a man of status.” She followed up after.

You remained silent, you did not have a right to voice so many opinions in one night.

.

.

.

Unfortunately the mourning period is over, so his next excuse was workload. Sometimes he will say he is tired, other times he must spend half the night inside his study then he will sleep there. The point is, the newlyweds did not speak, face to face.

There are natural acts of communication that have always happened between man and wife, as in the woman asking the husband for his opinion before proceeding or the act of reporting to him her latest household activities. Silly trivialities Alina did not feel like doing, for she would not beg for the words of a man married to ink and paper instead of her own self. It is only sensible she sends a lowly slave to report to him.

The banquet was to be a grand affair, a celebration of her union with Haitham as the wife of the new household head but Alina had sent You with a specific task to make sure the details were in Haitham’s hands, swiftly and precisely. To let him know and have his permission to carry it through, as if she hadn't started planning the event and was almost finished, of course. Haitham sat at a large, polished desk, hunched over a large book, his sharp features concentrated in the glow of a candle. He didn’t look up when you entered. Your eyes flickered over him for just a moment, noting the hard lines of his jaw, as though whatever lay before him had far more weight than anything you might carry.

“Lord Haitham.” You announced quietly, your face slightly lowered in respect.

Haitham’s eyes lifted up from the book, they had the sharpness of that bird, you cannot remember the name of the vulture as of now. It was a look you didn't feel used to, it was hard but it did not remind you to not look into the eyes of what's above you. It seemed to study your worth instead of judging it.

“What is it?” A tone steady with no warmth. It was like a liberating feeling to hear the mouth of a silent man like him. For the first time.

“My lady requests your thoughts on her banquet, my lord.”

His eyes shifted to the scroll in your hands and he studied it too, then looked back at you again, “She wants to create a spectacle I'm guessing?”

“My lady said it is necessary for families to see the strength of the alliance and to introduce herself into this society’s heart.”

“It is a spectacle, then.”

You didn't know what that word meant, to be honest. You only stood there waiting for his next order on the project.

He sighed, leaning back into his chair. He seemed to gather on his own that this meant he might have to grace the banquet with his presence to strengthen her idea, though it worked with his wife on her own. You guessed he did not have cared for it, his reaction gave you the intel of his thoughts on the matter.

“I see,” He began, “leave the scroll there.” He gestured to the open spots on his desk.

You made your way to his desk, stopping in front of it with careful steps taken. You laid the scroll at the front of his table, seeking an object to lay on it so passing winds of the open window would not cause it to blow away from his reach. In your reach for his comfort, you ruined your own. Your hand had managed to knock over his freshly grinded ink, spilling the contents onto the large book of contents you did not even understand. Picking it up in haste would never be enough, after doing this you dropped in front of him with a lowered head and clasped hands.

You remembered now when you dropped a head cloth for Alina in the mud at a younger age and they made sure you bled enough to replicate the mess you made with mud on your mistress’ shirt.

What you looked for did not come.

“I'm going to need you to grind more ink.” His voice sounded uncomfortable, “you cannot grind my ink if you cannot reach the desk.”

You did not get a lash or warning so you looked up at him, slowly at that. Your mistress’ husband’s eyes were narrowed but there was an error in his face, it didn't have the same indifferent studying features you saw when you first entered. It felt a bit odd in a man like himself. It reminded you of Alina when a suitor would approach her but not suit her fancy so she gave them a weird look and it made the situation uncomfortable all the time.

Uncomfortable you were, the silent response wasn't what you were used to so you gazed up at him in silence. His face became more strange, “Were you born slow minded?” He sneered at her, “I need that ink for work, you are delaying me.”

Neither of you spoke as you stood at a side table, for the safety of his other documents, close by his side, grinding the new ink you sought.

.

.

.

You did not mean to linger. In truth, you were meant to return back to your mistress’ quarters and sleep by her bedside now that the work is finished and she had been tucked in for bed by yourself. It is just that, on your way back from going to get snacks for the lady, in the case of her waking up at late hours, you had stopped to admire the clear, crisp air you felt on your face while passing an open door. You assumed a maid must've been finishing up some laundry or some other chore to be out this late. You wouldn't blame them, the calm of this time compared to the hustle of servant work in the daytime must have been something.

You stood on the veranda, your fingers brushing over the smooth, chilled small walls that separates you from the dirt of the other side as you gazed up at the sky. The stars were scattered, faint behind thin clouds, and for a brief moment, you let herself forget where you were, who you were. Your mind seemed to separate itself from your body and you wondered if other people could fall asleep when conscious.

The crisp night air filled your lungs as you stood beneath the sky, lingering in the fleeting moment of peace. It was rare to find time unclaimed by duty, where you could simply exist without the weight of expectation pressing upon you. The stars above, distant and unconcerned, shimmered with an indifference that you envied.

But peace was a fragile thing.

“Lingering outside at such an hour?”

The voice, steady yet sharp, cut through the silence like a blade. You stiffened before turning your head slightly, eyes catching the silhouette of Haitham standing a few paces away. Even in the dim light, his presence was unmistakable, rigid yet unreadable. You lowered your head quickly, fingers curling against the chilled stone of the railing.

“My lord,” you murmured, lowering into a quick bow. “I did not mean to idle. I was merely returning to my lady’s chambers.”

There was a pause, as if he were assessing whether your answer was sufficient. Then, in a tone lacking both warmth and irritation, he said, “By standing out here?”

You swallowed, choosing your words carefully. “It is a quiet night, my lord. The air is clear.”

Another pause. Then, to your quiet surprise, he stepped closer, gaze shifting from you to the sky above. His arms remained folded behind his back, his posture composed but strangely at ease. He stood beside you in silence, and for the first time since your arrival, you were not entirely certain what he was thinking.

“You find comfort in such things?” he asked at last, his tone carrying something lighter, something more contemplative than before.

You hesitated before answering. “It is not my place to seek comfort, my lord.”

“Then, you were seeking it?”

“... the air felt comforting and I forgot my duty.”

His gaze flickered toward you then, though you did not meet it. He did not speak immediately, and you wondered if you had overstepped, if you had spoken too freely. But when he did reply, it was not in reprimand.

“That is a way to look at it.”

You glanced at him now, just briefly. His expression was still unreadable, but something about the way he regarded the stars—as if weighing their worth against his own burdens—made your stomach twist in an unfamiliar way. He was a man whose thoughts you could never presume to know, but in this moment, he seemed less distant, less untouchable.

“You should return,” he said finally, his voice resuming its usual steadiness. “It would not do for Alina to wake and find you absent.”

You bowed again, murmuring an obedient, “Yes, my lord.” But as you stepped away, retreating back into the quiet halls of the estate, you felt his gaze linger on your back.

And for reasons you could not name, that thought unsettled you more than anything else.

.

.

.

You were the vessel of words between Haitham and Alina, and though he never spoke more than necessary, the weight of his scrutiny had lessened. He had grown used to your presence, and you had grown used to his silences. What once felt like an obligation now became routine—expected, unspoken.

The grand banquet hall gleamed under the light of hundreds of flickering candles, their glow reflecting off the polished gold filigree of the vaulted ceiling. Perfume clung to the air, a mix of roses, jasmine, and the faintest trace of incense. Laughter bubbled through the room in elegant waves, conversations flowing like fine wine poured into goblets that never seemed to empty.

Alina sat among the noblewomen, her gown shimmering with intricate embroidery, her fingers elegantly curled around the stem of her cup. She was poised, polite, as she always was, but you could see the slight tension in her brow. Across from her, a group of newly wedded young women spoke animatedly, their hands resting gently upon their stomachs as they shared knowing smiles. Their voices carried just enough to be overheard, but not so much as to be considered impolite.

"Oh, the first months were difficult," one of them, Lady Inesse, sighed with a theatrical tilt of her head. "But we are stronger for it. Lord Adrien has been so attentive. He hardly lets me lift a finger."

"Yes, my husband is the same," another woman chimed in, resting a delicate hand on her belly. "The moment he found out, he insisted I rest more. He says a strong heir must be nurtured from the very beginning."

Alina smiled, lips pressed together in a thin, unreadable line. "How fortunate," she murmured, tilting her goblet slightly so the wine swirled within. "Not all marriages bear fruit so soon."

The women's smiles remained, but there was an unmistakable air of self-satisfaction in the glances they exchanged. "Indeed," one of them said, her voice sweet as honey, "but I suppose when a man is devoted to his wife, things progress naturally."

Alina did not respond, merely taking a slow sip of her wine. You knew that look, her patience was thinning.

"My lady," you murmured quietly at her side, a message relayed from her husband, who sat further down the hall amongst the other noblemen. "Lord Haitham wishes to know if you are comfortable."

Her fingers tapped lightly against the table before she nodded. "Tell him I am enjoying the conversation immensely," she said, her tone smooth, betraying nothing.

You turned, walking the measured steps toward where Haitham sat among his peers. He looked up as you approached, his expression as unreadable as ever, though his gaze flicked briefly over your face, as if measuring the weight of what you carried.

"She says she is enjoying the conversation immensely, my lord."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "A lie, then," he muttered, before shifting his attention back to his plate. "Tell her to be gracious."

You nodded and made your way back, relaying his words softly into Alina’s ear. She exhaled sharply, the only sign of her annoyance, before plastering on a pleasant smile. "Of course."

As the night stretched on, the subtle exchanges continued. Alina, the picture of noble grace, smiled through the arrogance of the other wives, while Haitham remained at a distance, speaking only through you.

A servant approached you quietly, murmuring Haitham’s request for his wife’s presence. Alina’s lips pursed, but she did not refuse. Instead, she took a deliberate sip of her wine before gesturing for you to handle the matter first, as always. With a nod, you stepped away from the table, making your way toward Haitham’s usual spot at the far end of the hall.

You found him standing slightly apart from the main festivities, engaged in conversation with a few older noblemen. He caught sight of you before you even spoke, dismissing the men with a short nod before turning his attention to you.

“She wishes to remain,” you informed him.

He exhaled slowly, as if he had expected as much. “Of course she does.”

You hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “There are women speaking of their early pregnancies.”

His gaze sharpened slightly at that, though his face betrayed nothing else. “And?”

You chose your words carefully. “They are… boastful.”

A dry smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I imagine my wife is displeased.”

You nodded once.

He took a sip of his wine, his eyes flicking toward the banquet table where Alina remained. “I see,” he mused, though there was no urgency in his tone. Then, shifting his gaze back to you, he asked, “And you? Are you displeased as your mistress is?”

The question was unexpected. You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before lowering your gaze once more. “It is not my place to be.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a soft scoff, he shook his head. “Always so careful.”

You said nothing. After all, it was not your place to respond to such things.

He turned away first, moving to return to his wife’s side, and you followed, as you always did.

It was an odd thing, you thought, being caught between them, between a woman scorned by her husband's indifference and a man too removed from the expectations set upon him. And yet, you had grown so accustomed to it that you no longer questioned it.

You were their voice when they had none for each other.

.

And you would be more.

Alina’s marriage, a strategic alliance, had borne no fruit. No physical connection between her and Haitham, nor the child that society expected to see from the union of their houses. In her heart, she knew this was more than a personal desire. A child wasn’t merely a sign of intimacy; it was a symbol of power, security, and legitimacy.

It was not uncommon in the aristocratic circles for heirs to be born outside the confines of their marriage bed. History, as it had always been, had seen many such acts carried out in silence, and in some cases, even with the consent of the husband. The purpose was simple: the creation of a legitimate heir without the social complications of a wife’s infidelity or public scandal. Alina, sharp-minded and always calculating, knew the importance of this. Her father, a man of vast influence, had married her off to Haitham to secure their family’s political future, and there would be no room for failure. A child, especially a male heir, would solidify her place and make her indispensable to her husband’s claim.

But where Haitham was distant and emotionally detached, Alina found an inconvenient truth: he had yet to sleep with her, and thus, no child had come of it. The initial excuses; mourning, workload, personal affairs, had grown thinner with each passing week, yet his indifference remained. If she were to have an heir, it seemed clear that she would not be the one to provide him with it.

Alina’s solution was neither swift nor easy, but it was the only option left that she could control. She had, after all, a willing participant in her service: you. Her maidservant, loyal and quiet, had always been there, a constant presence in the background of her life. Alina knew you were devoted to her, perhaps even more than your duty required, and in a strange way, she had come to trust you in the most unusual ways.

One evening, when the estate was quiet, and the scent of incense drifted lazily through the air, Alina summoned you to her chambers. Her voice was soft but firm, and she dismissed the others with a swift motion of her hand before pulling you aside. She regarded you with a calculated look that betrayed little of the storm within her.

“You understand, don’t you?” she asked, her eyes hard and unwavering. “The importance of an heir. Of securing our place, our future. It is what we need to maintain our power and solidify this alliance. The alliance is everything, and the heir must come. Without it, we are nothing.”

You lowered your gaze, unsure of what she meant but not daring to ask. Alina continued, her words sharp, like a blade, but her tone controlled.

“I have made many considerations, and the most sensible, the most logical path forward is for you to carry Haitham’s child.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a long moment, silence followed. You had been trained to remain calm, to serve without question, but this request was one that felt different. Your breath caught in your throat, though you said nothing. This was a decision of magnitude, one that carried the weight of not only your life but the future of the entire household.

“You are… willing to bear his child, to ensure the survival of this house, to make certain we are not forgotten? I trust you, more than any other.”

Alina’s voice softened, but there was an undercurrent of command in her tone. This was not a mere request; it was a calculated demand, and in some twisted way, it was the only way forward if she was to have the power she desired.

The weight of her words settled upon you, and for the first time, you found yourself at a loss for how to respond. To carry a child that would never be yours, to act as a vessel for the ambitions of a woman who had shown little kindness to you in recent months, was not a simple task. And yet, you knew the reality of your situation. You were bound by duty, by a system that left you with few options.

You had been taught to serve, and this was a service unlike any other. Alina was offering you a choice, but in truth, there was no choice. You could not refuse without risking everything you had built up to this point.

With a slow breath, you lowered your head, your voice barely a whisper as you responded, “Yes, my lady. I will do what is necessary.”

Was it necessary anyway? You asked this to yourself loudly in your head.

Alina nodded, as if she had expected this answer, though a flicker of something unspoken passed through her eyes. She had known you would comply, as you always did. The plan was set in motion, and despite the unease that curled in your stomach, you understood what must be done.

“You are my personal maidservant. You belong to me. Therefore, your child by my husband is as good as mine.”

And she had planned it all well. The next few days were perfectly arranged. Her tear jogging and the summon of the doctor, at the feet of Haitham’s beloved old grandmother who treated Alina like her own, she whimpered of her body’s inabilities despite efforts of Haitham and herself. The sweet woman could only feel pity for another woman and for her only grandchild, what would be the future of this household, if only.

It did not take a fortune to convince this sweet old lady, not with Alina’s planning and waterworks. Haitham, ever indifferent, supposedly remained unaware of the intricacies unfolding around him.

The night of conception came like a quiet storm. Alina had ensured that Haitham would be present in the chamber, though there was no discussion between them about the task at hand. It was simply a matter of circumstance, a duty that needed to be fulfilled. You would be the one to bear the heir, to ensure the continuity of the house’s bloodline, and Alina’s power.

As if, this was Al Haitham. In some ways, you had gotten to know him over the course of months. A man of his caliber would only come to distrust and distance himself from such a wife, perhaps away from you as well knowing your part in it if he were to ever find out they had planned for you to do this with him without his knowledge.

The room felt unnaturally still, as though the air itself had frozen in time. The soft flicker of candlelight cast shadows that danced across the walls, shifting with every slight movement. The faint scent of incense filled the room, mingling with the heaviness of the moment. Your heart raced in your chest, the rhythmic thudding a sharp contrast to the oppressive silence that hung between you both.

You had expected this to be different. Perhaps not in the way you had imagined– no, that would have been far too simple. But the tension, the weight of what was happening now, felt too real, too immediate. There was a strange pulse to the air, a magnetic tension that made your skin crawl with a mix of fear, something else. Something you couldn’t name.

Your eyes were on him, Haitham, who lay there, a stark contrast to his usual reserved, controlled demeanor. This wasn’t the same man you had observed from the corners of the room, the distant ruler whose every move was calculated, every glance deliberate. No, this man was almost too present. His actions were methodical, but there was no hesitation in them. He was going through the motions, but his eyes held a depth that left you uneasy, as if he could see you for who you truly were in this vulnerable moment.

You had always known your place, always understood the dynamics of your position. You were a servant, an unseen presence, a quiet fixture in the grand scheme of things. But now, here, in this moment, with him on top of you, there was no illusion of distance. The line between mistress and servant, between ruler and subject, blurred in a way you had never anticipated.

The room was silent, save for the faint sounds of your breath, as the plan played out as it had been orchestrated.

The sensation of his body against yours was jarring, foreign. The coldness in his touch unsettled you, but there was something more, a sense of inevitability. You had been chosen for this. But why? The confusion gnawed at you. You had never been part of any plan like this before, not one so personal, so… intimate. Why had he agreed to this? Why had he, of all people, allowed himself to fall into the role you had orchestrated? It was out of character. Here he was, doing exactly what was needed, exactly what Alina wanted, without question or protest.

If you listened to your foolish thoughts anymore, it would tell you his movements felt almost passionate. It was too out of character so you blamed the wine for ruining your common sense.

.

.

The moment the physicians confirmed it, you could feel the weight of the change settling in your chest, the flutter of the tiny life inside you somehow more real than anything you had ever known.

You walked with your head held high, side by side with your mistress, despite the deep, twisting confusion that churned in your stomach. Why had Haitham agreed? Why had he allowed this to happen? The question still echoed in your mind, unanswered and impossible to forget. Yet, as the days stretched into weeks, your questions became more focused on the now: the child growing inside you.

The weight of your pregnancy seemed to follow and burden you everywhere. When you were in the gardens, the sunlight no longer seemed as warm. The birds no longer sang as sweetly. The air itself felt like it was watching you, waiting for something. You could no longer escape the fact that this child, the product of a choice made for your mistress’ own interests, was the key to your future, your place within the palace, and possibly even your survival.

It was impossible to ignore now. The signs were clear, undeniable. Your abdomen had begun to round ever so slightly, a gentle curve that only seemed to grow with time. The subtle shifts in your body, a slight swell here, the soft tenderness of your skin were constant reminders of the child you carried, the child that had begun this entire chain of events.

The pregnancy, the child, had become a symbol, a weapon, and a future all in one. And for all that it was supposed to bring, it had already begun to take so much from you. It was not just your body that had changed, but your entire existence.

You were no longer just a maid. You were the vessel of an heir. You were a cornerstone of a household's future. And as the days passed, the walls of the manor seemed to close in tighter, each step you took echoing with the gravity of the choice you had never made, but had been forced to accept.

That old woman was happy too but you did not care.

Alina was happy too, the sense of completeness you felt when her wants were fulfilled weren't there. You can't describe your feelings right now and you didn't want to.

But Haitham..

The pregnancy, your growing belly, the fact that he had been part of the very act that had led to this point—none of it was discussed. His presence in your life hadn’t changed much on the surface. He still avoided your gaze in private, keeping a calm and collected demeanor, his mask of stoicism firmly in place. But there was something there. Something that lingered in his eyes when they flickered toward your belly, a subtle moment of discomfort, of something unreadable.

At first, Haitham kept his distance. His attention was always elsewhere, his mind consumed with matters of state, but there was an unspoken understanding that now you were irrevocably linked. He had made his choice, whether out of obligation, duty, or some other reasoning you could not grasp, and now you carried the consequence of that choice.

His visits to your chambers were scarce, but when they came, they were filled with a politeness you were not used to. You wouldn't call it cold, though. The tension that hung between you was palpable. He would glance at your growing belly, his face unreadable, and then turn away. You could feel the subtle discomfort in the air whenever he stood near you, as though he too was struggling to comprehend what was unfolding.

You caught it sometimes, fleeting glances when he thought you weren’t paying attention. In the quiet moments when you passed him in the hallways or when you stood in his presence during the day’s events, you could feel him watching, but never looking too long. As if he feared that if he stared for even a moment, the reality of the situation would be too much for him to bear.

It was as though the whole thing was a shadow between you, this pregnancy, this child, looming over every interaction.

The memory lingered in your mind, playing in your thoughts when silence enveloped your chambers. How he had agreed, how he had acted without hesitation, despite everything you had tried to seduce him. You knew he was a man of logic, of control, of reason. Why would he break his own rules for you? He hadn’t even been drunk; he hadn’t been swayed by emotions or intoxication. And somehow, you were now pregnant with his child.

You tried to focus on the child. There was little room in your mind for anything else. The weight of the future now rested on this unborn life. And yet as your pregnancy progressed, you found it harder and harder to look at him without feeling a mix of frustration and confusion. You had thought he would keep his distance, remain cold, as he always did, but there was something different now. He no longer avoided you with the same clear indifference he once did. His gaze lingered for just a moment too long when he saw you. He would pretend to be lost in his thoughts but would always glance back at you, his expression unreadable, as though unsure how to handle you now.

.

.

.

The birth came quickly, much faster than you anticipated. The days leading up to it had been filled with a quiet dread, an anxiety that hung over you like a thick fog. Despite everything that had led to this moment, you could not shake the feeling of unease. The manor had become a blur of whispers and well-meaning visits, but in those final days, all that mattered was the quiet urgency of labor.

Haitham was nowhere to be found during the most excruciating hours. You hadn’t expected his presence; after all, you weren’t sure if he would even acknowledge the child once it was born but his absence felt heavier than it should have. The room was filled with the sounds of your breathing, the anxious murmurs of the attendants, the rustling of linens. The only thing that mattered in that moment was the child, the child you had carried in silence, the child that would change the course of everything.

When the time came, it was not like you had imagined. There were no comforting words, no hand to hold. They assured you had the best midwives, but there was something detached about it all. It was business, almost. Everything felt calculated, as though the child’s arrival was as much a political event as a personal one.

You could feel the child moving, every contraction a reminder that your body was no longer your own. The pain was intense, but you pushed through it, through the moments of sharp discomfort, through the quiet exhaustion that gnawed at you.

And then, finally, there was silence. For a brief moment, all of the noise, the world, the palace, the turmoil, fell away. The child, your child, had arrived. It cried out, its tiny voice piercing the quiet, demanding attention.

The attendants moved quickly, wrapping the child in soft blankets and handing it to you, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were still unfocused, the lingering pain of childbirth pulling you under. You only registered the weight of the child in your arms, the warmth of its small body, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of something other than confusion. Was it a relief? Or just a momentary lapse in the fog that had clouded your mind since the conception?

You looked down at the child, a tiny life so fragile and innocent. Its features were too young to distinguish fully, but you could already feel the pull of something strong inside of you. This child, though born of necessity, now seemed to be more than just a pawn. It was real. It was here.

As the attendants filed out of the room, you were left alone with the child, the soft sound of its breathing filling the space between you and the empty room. A strange emptiness settled over you as you sat there, unsure of what to feel. There was no joy, at least, not the way you imagined it should be. There was no overwhelming love that flooded your chest, no tearful happiness. Instead, you felt… trapped. The responsibility of it all was suddenly clearer than it had ever been.

If Alina was in the manor today, she would've grabbed this bundle and paraded it around as her proud work. For once, you felt yourself wishing she was here to do that. She only knew to take all from you but responsibility.

Then, unexpectedly, the door to your chambers opened.

Haitham stood in the doorway, his figure outlined by the soft glow of candlelight. His gaze landed immediately on the child, his face unreadable. The silence between the two of you stretched for what felt like an eternity. You watched him, unable to look away, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. His eyes flicked to you, then back to the child. Then, almost imperceptibly, he took a step forward, the sound of his boots muted on the stone floor.

He didn’t speak at first, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything either. His gaze was fixed on the child, his eyes narrow but not unkind. You could almost see the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the realization of everything that had transpired in this room.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, almost as if testing the words before he allowed them to escape.

“It’s… done,” he said, the words simple, but heavy.

You nodded slowly, uncertain of how to respond. “Yes.”

Haitham stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the child. He paused for a long moment, and for the first time since the pregnancy began, you wondered if he was truly seeing the reality of it all. Was he finally understanding the gravity of what had been set in motion? Or was this just another task to him—something he had no choice but to accept?

He reached out, just slightly, as though unsure how to touch the fragile, new life. His fingers hovered near the child’s blanket, but he did not touch it.

For a moment, the room seemed impossibly still, the tension thick. And then, without warning, Haitham’s voice broke through the silence again, softer this time, as if speaking to himself.

“It’s… ours,” he murmured, the words barely a whisper, but they landed heavy in the space between you both.

You looked at him, studying his face, trying to make sense of what had just passed between you. He didn’t meet your gaze, his eyes lingering instead on the child, his hand now gently brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket.

There was something deeper in his tone—something more than just himself, something raw and unspoken.

For a moment, you thought you saw something, something fleeting in his eyes. A flicker of doubt? Regret? Was it something else? You weren't used to different emotions from him so it was impossible to tell. But in that brief moment, you wondered if the child, the very thing that had bound you together in a web of politics, might also be the thing that changed everything between you.

But for now, there was only silence. Only the child in your arms, and the strange tension that hung between you and Haitham.

**************************************

Notes: this is a second apology if this sounded like word vomit.

So, perhaps, this will be too directed to my perception of MC, her mother, and her environment. Nevertheless, that evening, when I read all your works, I believed in fate, because 10 minutes later I came across an English cover of the "daughter of evil" and I plunged into a wonderful world of 🌈memories🌈. And you know, when I finally managed to get out of fantasies, like in childhood, that I was the same princess, I was run over by a train of awareness. This song fits our Empress and her mother almost perfectly, although perhaps they are not so cruel and do not have such a sad ending.

In your last work, you call MC a "douche", and when she meets Jing Yuan, her mother clearly has a very bad temper. I like to think that a "daughter of evil" could be written by some bard. Although he would clearly have been beheaded quickly for insulting the Empress or the Empress Mother. Although I like to think that our MC is moderately hard and not as bloodthirsty as her mother.

Если да, то получается, что у императрицы должны быть сестры. Где они сейчас?

I loved daughter of evil when I was younger, I think it was my first or one of the first vocaloid songs i discovered as a young girl. I lived in the delusion too dw.

As for the portrayal of Empress' mother, yes I can see the resemblance between her and the song I see it a lot, I'd say that the Empress' mother was more tyrannical with anger issues more than our current Empress right now. Current Empress is definitely more tame in comparison! So yes, you're right she's more mild and gentler in her reign (in comparison to her mother..) but definitely still a horrible person.

Many people definitely don't have the guts to confront them about their issues.. I think the bard would end up with everything in his body tortured outside of him very slowly before he can breathe his last breath.. Maybe current empress would be nice enough to make him die faster...?

Assuming your last paragraph asks about the sisters of the Empress; many of them definitely didn't make it out the fight for the throne but there are ones who either allied themselves with her for her campaign to win the throne or didn't fight her and backed down from the Crown Princess battle. After the death of their mother, the survivors of the succession war went on to be governors, ministers, generals, imperial council officials etc. but are kept under strict supervision, you know, in case of belated betrayal and rebellion they might cause! Some forfeit their rights to the throne, abandoning their birth right to serve in religious fields, they can't contend the Empress anymore as they gave up everything that made them legit for it.

In any case, all the best to you and your birthday friend! 🎉🎆 Good day to you!

P.S. Maybe after a while I'll send some brainrot 🌹

It can be our problem from now on, yes. 💍

Thank you so much dear your compliments made me smile for the afternoon :>> I was so happy to get this in mail from you and yes I'll tell her you said for her! Good day to you too!

In where, the honkai star rail men interact with you, their Empress, in little scenarios.

See part one: here part two: here

Notes: Empress is a bit of an douche, I don't remember what I wrote, unedited low-key, Empress' thinly veiled sexism, Empress is her own warning.

***************************************

Sunday

The hour of nine had been made known by the echoes of the bells some time earlier. Now, the private dining chamber of the current reigning Lord Consort’s palace was silent, save for the patter and clink of porcelain under the fork of the Empress. The room was warmed by candle light and scented by the presence of delicacies but you could not force a comfortable atmosphere with ease.

You sat at the round, filled table but your appetite has never been more empty. Next to you, Sunday stood rigidly, one hand behind his back, his head slightly bowed in deference.

“A little man like yourself shouldn't be standing so long,” You twirled the wine cup in your hand, watching the liquid dance. “But you will stand there all night, won't you?”

It is tradition,” Sunday replied, his voice steady, as if the phrase were a shield against any argument. “At the hour of nine, the Empress dines, and her husband ensures her safety and comfort. To sit would be…”

“A break in tradition, yes.” You hoped you sounded mocking enough.

Sunday didn’t rise to the bait, his posture unwavering. “It is not my place to question what has been done for centuries, Your Majesty.”

You huffed and leaned back in your seat, swirling the wine in your hand once more. Just imagine nagging your wife at such a young age.

“Your Majesty,” Sunday said after a long pause, his voice low but measured. “You haven’t drunk your wine. Should I request a different vintage?”

You looked up at him, your eyes scanning his face for a crack in the mask of composure he always wore. He was as handsome as ever, his bright hair neatly combed, his ceremonial tunic perfectly pressed. But there was a special stiffness in him now that hadn’t been there when they were children. Always the rigid boy he was but these days it felt different.

Always a keen observer, he must've noticed you would rather swirl the wine than drink it, “The wine is fine.”

The silence resumed and you stared back at the filled table in front of you, you didn't look up until you saw a plate held before you. Sunday kneeled before you in the appropriate fashion and offered the plate to you, “I asked this to be made for you, it's good for relaxing the body after a long day.” It was possibly Barley Porridge, or not. You didn't have all the energy to care or bother.

If this was some other night, you would just thank him and drink it, just so he would not pester you about your health until you give in.

“Isn't kneeling almost the same as sitting.”

Sunday’s expression shifted then reverted back to its usual status of composed, “Kneeling before one's wife to offer her the meal is part of custom.”

You didn't hold back the tch sound from leaving your lips and you turned away from him, reaching for the other bowl before you. You didn't even bother to check what you were eating. Whatever it was, it made you feel hotter.

Sunday's brow furrowed, but he didn’t move. “It is my duty, my Empress. My role. I was raised to honor these traditions, to uphold the sacred customs, to respect you above all. It was never hidden in my intent to displease you by this.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“You’ve been busy,” you said after a moment, your voice soft but laced with something unspoken. “I hardly see you anymore.”

Sunday paused, his fork hovering in the air. “There is much to manage, Your Majesty. As your husband, I must ensure the household remains in order, oversee the petitions regarding your harem, and maintain the harmony of the court on your behalf.”

“Yes,” you said, leaning back in your hair, you dropped your fork onto the plate loudly. You made sure your tone was cool, “You’re always managing something, aren’t you? Always working.” If you heard his whine about tradition and duty one more time you would surely throw the fork at him next time.

He looked up, his amber eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—but it was quickly buried under the calm veneer he had perfected over years of training. “It is my duty. I was raised for this, my lady. Groomed to be the husband of an Empress. To support you. To bring balance to your reign”

It's good you put the fork down beforehand then, “It's always about your damned Empress, do you think for me anymore?”

Sunday flinched, just barely, but enough for you to notice. He set his fork down carefully, his movements deliberate. “You are the Empress. My wife. My highest priority. Everything I do is for you.”

“You can't even make a woman happy. I come here after slaving all day for this Empire and you make me feel like I'm still sitting in a council meeting.” You weren't aware of your tone or manners anymore. You stood up. You were tired. You didn't have the energy for one more debate this evening.

His jaw tightened, and he looked down at his plate. For a moment, he seemed to falter, the weight of your words pressing against the walls he had built around himself. “I only wish to be what you need,” he said finally, his voice quieter now.

He wanted to turn, to take your hand, to pull you close. But the voice of his upbringing rang in his head: An Empress deserves a husband who is steady, composed, unyielding.

Aventurine

The chamber was dimly lit, the intricate latticework casting fractured shadows across the marble floors. You sat on your raised throne, your robes spilling over the edges like cascading waterfalls. Your sharp, stormy eyes bore into the spot the IPC envoy stood before, heavy feelings of before the woman left your presence still remained. A minute has passed by now.

From the shadows of the chamber, a soft, measured voice broke the tension.

“Your Majesty,” said Aventurine, stepping forward with a grace that bordered on feline. He was dressed in silken robes of red and black,though the simplicity of his attire only served to accentuate his striking brighter features. His golden hair gleamed under the dim light, and his coloured eyes were calm, like a still lake.

You turned your sharp gaze to him, expression softening just slightly at the sight of your current favorite. “Aventurine. Do you too seek to explain this man’s impudence?

Aventurine watched you from a respectful distance, noting the way your shoulders rose and fell with each measured breath. The IPC envoy’s earlier gaffe still lingered in the air like a bad taste. Words of cooperation had somehow sounded like veiled commands, and His Empress, his lady, was not a woman who took kindly to even the suggestion of subservience.

The blond tilted his head, a smile made its way onto his face like the slow slithering of a snake, “I only bring concern for my Mistress.”

Your gaze became harder, “For me? Or for the precious position your IPC holds at my court?” “He stepped closer but slowly, “They value the peace your majesty has with you, their methods of expressing this admiration was perhaps…” he put his hand to his cheek, “clumsy.”

Your small laugh held no humor, “Telling me what to do with my own army feels like deliberate orders to a child, it was not clumsy.”

His response was quick, “And yet you did not strike them down for the impertinence. I admire your restraint as a leader, darling.”

Your lips twitched, but your anger had not yet abated. “Do not think flattery will blind me, Aven. I am not so easily swayed.”

Another smile on his face, “How could I ever sway you,” His steps slithered closer to you as he spoke, “Only to remind you who is being orbited. The IPC may fumble in their path but the orbit remains the same, around you. Not the other way around.”

“And what do you orbit, Aven?” He observed the way you tilted your head, you were studying him.

He was before you, replacing the spot the envoy of earlier had stood, “I orbit you as well, your majesty. What else am I supposed to be?”

You felt your lips curve into a smile, “You and your boyish flattery.” You took a breath before you continued speaking, “But the IPC is becoming bold, this orbit you speak of, are they not swaying away from the direction?”

He put his hands behind his back, his eyes staring off into the far corner of the ceiling, his brows knitted in confusion now, “Perhaps their boldness is not insolence. Do you think they seek to align themselves closer to your brilliant glow instead, like excited children who stumble from not paying attention?”

Your brow furrowed. For a moment, the air between them was heavy but Aventurine could sense the embers of your fury cooling.

Your gaze fixed on him, a lighter look on your face,“You speak well, Aven. Too well. It is my fault for asking a little guy like yourself about politics.” You stood from your seat, stretching as you did, “I let you learn a bit of Astronomy and look at the way you're speaking..”

Aventurine let out a light laugh, the room felt easier to breathe.

Your eyes glanced over at the blond’s figure and then you grinned, “You should wait for me back in the chambers like you were supposed to, I think I'm done with work for the day.” You walked down from the stairs leading up to your seat and patted the blond on his shoulder, “I'll go bath first.”

As you left the room,your robes trailing behind you, Aventurine remained where he was, exhaling softly. The Empress’s anger had been tempered—for now. But the IPC would need to tread more carefully, and Aventurine, the favored star in her constellation, would have to continue this dangerous dance for as long as the peace demanded it.

JingYuan

The Imperial Gardens, a rare concession the Empress grants herself when you feel to avoid the formality of your status. The winter-blooming plum trees stand in stark contrast to the chilly air, a reminder of resilience in the face of hardship. The Empress is seated by a small pavilion overlooking a fish pond.

Jingyuan walked the path of stone with measured steps, the cold of the winter made him clasp his hands together in the muffs. He knew this audience was a gamble but it was the final option. Any mistake will cause more than just his nation wide shame.

The Empress waited in the pavilion overlooking the fish pond. Your silhouette was framed by the rising sun, your expression as sharp and cold as the season itself. Jingyuan paused at the edge of the pavilion, bowing deeply. There was only one chance to get this right.

“Your majesty,” he said, “you honor me with your permission to have an audience.” Indeed, the Empress had ignored his request to see her ever since the sudden news of Auntie Jingliu’s betrayal. The fact she answered him now, after all these days, was a miracle in itself. He worried for stable means of interfering, for days. This was a matter of the privilege, reputation and overall of his clan after all.

A board of checkers sat in the middle of the pavilion, laid between himself and the Empress. You sat on the edge of the pavilion’s balcony, overseeing the fish pond with interest. The head servant of your palace stood next to you to attend to your wants, giving Jingyuan a bow upon his arrival. JingYuan was no fool, that bow was degradatory, if the Empress did not speak then this gave him a clear view of how you saw him. Aunt Jingliu has committed something terrible indeed.

“You are here.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

You didn't say anything after that, you simply took a bag from your servant and began to sprinkle the contents into the fish pond. JingYuan now understood.

“I read that book you gave to me again.”

You paused in your sprinkling, seeming surprised with his choice of words, then you continued again, “It enlightened you so much, you pestered me for days for an audience?”

“I wanted to speak to you.”

“An old book of prose I gave to you months ago?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

You stopped your sprinkling again, sighing, “you may proceed.”

Jingyuan took a careful step forward, his voice soft but steady as he began.

“In a remote valley, there stood a mighty tree—ancient and proud, its roots deep and unshaken by storms. For years, it sheltered a small vine that had been brought to it by chance. This vine, though fragile, grew strong under the tree’s protection, clinging to its bark and flourishing in the sunlight that filtered through its branches.” He paused, then continued, “But one day, the vine, in its foolishness, extended itself too far and ensnared a passing traveler. The traveler stumbled, fell, and chaos ensued. The villagers, seeing this, cried out to cut the vine from the tree. They said the vine’s foolishness was a stain upon the tree’s honor.”

You tilted your head, your expression inscrutable to him.

“The tree did not wither. It did not fall. Its roots remained strong, its branches unbroken. When the vine was untangled and allowed to grow again, it clung closer to the tree, humbled by its near demise. In time, it became a symbol not of weakness, but of the tree’s enduring strength and mercy.”

Silence followed. You turned your gaze back to the pond, your fingers lightly drumming against the walls of the pavilion, you spoke, “Justice is the root of your power, mercy is its blossom. Without one, the other cannot thrive. Let the vine be pruned, so it may grow anew.” You spoke the final words of the short story, almost begrudgingly, “then the meaning behind this prose interests you?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“If that is all you wanted to say, you can leave.” You placed the bag of fish food onto the tray the servant held it on and sat back in your seat, to finish your game of solo checkers, he assumed. Jingyuan merely bowed, not being met with any acknowledgment from you then left the pavilion.

Half way outside the imperial gardens, the servant caught up to him.

“Her majesty the Empress says this poem has had great influence on her and urges you to copy it 50 times before the dawn of tomorrow.”

Oh.

Dr Ratio

The golden morning light streamed through the silk curtains of the Empress’s private garden. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the faint aroma of jasmine and honeyed porridge. You sat in your usual place, your posture regal yet relaxed, as you reached for a delicate piece of fruit. Across from you, your concubine,Veritas Ratio, meticulously arranged his black and white checkers on the board with steady hands.

“Your Majesty,” Ratio began, his voice warm and measured, “as we talk about the theory of governance, might I posit that decentralization could be a double-edged sword?” He placed his first piece with precision, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with an eager spark.

The Empress arched a brow, intrigued but guarded. “Go on, Ratio,” you replied, your tone indulgent but commanding. You slid a checker forward with a graceful flick of your fingers, your painted nails catching the sunlight.

“Imagine, if you will,” Ratio said, leaning forward slightly, his voice rising in pitch and fervor, “a network of leaders, each with agency but united by shared principles. It creates adaptability, fosters competition, and-”

“Ratio,” you interjected gently, but your tone carried the weight of expectation.

He either did not notice or chose to ignore the subtle warning, his passion carrying him away. “And yet! The historical precedent shows that such a system, while revolutionary, risks fragmentation if not properly unified by a strong—”

“Veritas,” you said again, your voice as calm as the surface of a still pond but with an edge sharp enough to cut through his enthusiasm.

Ratio froze, his words caught in his throat like a trapped bird. His hand hovered over the checkerboard as the weight of your gaze bore down on him. He realized his error too late. A man speaking so forcefully, especially to the Empress herself? It was unthinkable, unforgivable in the eyes of society.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said quickly, his voice softening as he leaned back slightly, giving you the space you deserved. “I may have gotten carried away.”

You tilted your head, a faint smirk playing at your lips. You slid another checker forward, capturing one of his pieces in one move. “Carried away, indeed,” you said, your tone now tinged with amusement. “It is a rare sight, a man forgetting his place. But rarer still-” your gaze softened, your smirk blooming into a genuine smile “-is a mind like yours.”

You leaned back slightly, satisfied. “Good. Then perhaps we can discuss influence without forgetting our manners.” You gestured toward the breakfast spread. “But do eat, Ratio. A sharp mind falters on an empty stomach.”

Ratio picked up a steamed bun, chewing thoughtfully. His pride simmered beneath the surface, but he knew better than to let it spill over. The subtle reminder of his place stung, but he bowed his head slightly, a silent acknowledgment of your authority. He reached for his next move.

“I am fortunate, Your Majesty, to have a place where my thoughts can find an ear,” he said, his voice measured once more. “Even if I must learn when to temper my excitement.” He found himself struggling with his tone, this was the Empress. He was also one of her men.

You chuckled softly. “Indeed, Ratio . Temperance is a virtue, one you must practice if you intend to continue playing games with me.”

Your jesting hung in the air, light yet pointed. Ratio met your gaze, his lips curling into a small, resigned smile. He wanted to push, to challenge, to show that his mind was worth just as much as yours, but he knew the lines he dared not cross, not yet.

“I shall take that lesson to heart, Your Majesty,” he said, moving his piece with deliberate care.

You watched him, your smile deepening ever so slightly as you placed another piece on the board. “Good. It would be a shame for such a sharp mind to dull itself on unnecessary defiance.”

Ratio placed his next piece with deliberate care, his voice quiet but firm. “I assure you, Your Majesty, my defiance if it can be called that comes only from a desire to engage, to share ideas. Not to challenge.”

“Is that so?” You asked, arching a brow. You captured another piece with surgical precision. “Then perhaps you should consider how best to share those ideas without forgetting who you are addressing.”

Your words were honeyed steel, and Ratio felt the subtle pressure behind them. He knew better than to push further. “As always, your wisdom humbles me,” he said with a small, practiced smile.

You let the silence stretch between you both for a moment before offering him a piece of fruit. “Now,” you made your tone warmer, “if decentralized is the sword..”

Ratio accepted the fruit, his expression softening. He treaded carefully as he spoke, adjusting his words to match the Empress’s tempo. Despite the undercurrent of frustration, he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of triumph. You may hold the reins, but he would find a way to ensure his voice remained part of the song.

Dan Heng

In the dimly lit recesses of the imperial archives, the scent of aged parchment and ink permeated the air. Dan Heng, once a favored concubine, now thrown into the role of temporary archivist, meticulously organizing scrolls and manuscripts, his demeanor composed despite his altered circumstances.

It was easier to ignore the questioning stares around him, they granted him the dignity of looking away and carrying on with their businesses once he glanced at them. It felt better, a steady flow in comparison to the vipers of the harem who pounced at him the moment the Empress showed disinterest in him. Perhaps, he should've been born someone ordinary, sent to the palace to look through the Imperial Department of Archives all day. If the next life even exists, he hopes to sit in an archive all day, reading aimlessly.

The soft rustle of silk announced the arrival of the Empress, your presence commanding and deliberate. You observed Dan Heng in silence, noting the grace with which he performed his menial tasks. After a moment, you spoke, your tone laced with condescension.

“It seems the duties of an archivist suit you, Dan Heng. Perhaps this is where your true worth lies.”

Dan Heng paused, then turned to face the Empress, bowing respectfully. “Your Majesty, I serve where I am needed. If tending to the archives is my duty, I shall perform it to the best of my abilities.”

Your eyes narrowed, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Do not mistake this demotion for mere reassignment. Your refusal to seek my favor, to acknowledge the opportunities I have extended, the stench of arrogance. Do you believe that by denying me, you elevate your own worth?”

“I harbor no such illusions, Your Majesty. My intent has never been to defy or demean you. I simply remain true to myself.”

You stepped closer, your gaze piercing. “True to yourself? Or merely too proud to submit? Men in this palace have risen and fallen by their ability to please me. Your obstinance serves only to isolate you.”

“If my actions have caused offense, I regret that. However, I cannot feign affection or desire where none exists.”

It became obvious among many, since the young Vidyadhara had entered the harem that he was favored despite his background. Given gifts, given favor, the Empress adorned him with the fruits of her admiration. However, Dan Heng’s demeanor was far from submissive. He maintained a deliberate distance, his interactions with the Empress marked by a calculated indifference.

Perceiving his behavior as a challenge to your supremacy, you resolved to break his defiance.

You began by withdrawing the privileges he had enjoyed. Dan Heng was removed from the roster of those who would share your bed, a clear demotion in the hierarchical world of the harem, a response to his constant disrespect you claimed. The palace staff, ever attuned to the Empress’s favor, began to treat him with increasing disdain. Gifts once bestowed upon him were confiscated, and the servants assigned to his quarters were reassigned, leaving him to tend to a smaller household to tend to his needs, even then the number grew smaller from their personal choice to just leave him and find better masters. Even the Empress’s symbolic gestures were pointed; you had his cherished flowers transplanted to the imperial gardens, interspersed among wild blooms, pushing the nail further in of his fall from grace.

You did everything to make him miserable. He remained relentless. And now, even in the walls of scrolls and ink you had confined him into as a final warning, he remained careless of your attempts to fix him.

A tense silence hung between them, your expression hardened. “You overestimate your position, Dan Heng. In this court, worth is determined by favor and influence, not personal conviction. Continue on this path, and you will find yourself forgotten, buried among these scrolls, your beauty will be wasted.”

Being met with silence and his defiant, nonchalant look again, with a voice laced with mockery, you addressed him, “Dan Heng, your stubbornness is as admirable as it is futile. Do you not know that a man’s appeal lies in his willingness to seek a woman’s favor? Your silent suffering is unbecoming. No woman desires a man who cannot humble himself before her. Yet, I have shown you leniency. Should you not be more grateful?”

Dan Heng met your gaze, his expression serene. “Your Majesty,” he replied, “gratitude is due for kindness freely given, not for favors extracted through submission. If my demeanor displeases you, it is only because I remain true to myself.”

A sound of tch left your mouth, you've spent enough time here. You had better things to do.

“Honorable fools like yourself are better off hanging themselves, no?”

With that, you turned and departed, leaving Dan Heng alone amidst the silent testimonies of history.

Gepard

The private garden pavilion was quiet, lit by the soft glow of lanterns and the silver gleam of the moon. The Empress leaned against the balustrade, gazing out at the rippling pond, your presence regal and strangely relaxed. Gepard stood a respectful distance behind you, his posture stiff.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, your voice casual but carrying an undertone of curiosity.

“Never, Your Majesty,” he replied smoothly. “You are always where my thoughts lead.”

You let out a soft chuckle, though your gaze didn’t waver from the water. “Such a practiced answer. Did they teach you that in the countryside or have you honed the art since returning to court?”

“I’ve had excellent teachers,” Gepard said with a faint smile.

You studied him for a moment, your expression unreadable to him. Then you smiled faintly and gestured toward the bench nearby. “Walk with me,” you said, commanded was how he would describe it.

The walk was silent at first, their footsteps and the rustle of trees conversed with one another instead.

You looked at him, your eyes felt as if they bored him for an answer, “I remember when we used to sneak into the kitchens.”

Gepard glanced at you quickly, seeming surprised by your question, “I remember you demanded me to follow you there.”

You laughed at his reaction, a soft, genuine sound. “And you were the one who got caught stealing honey cakes because you couldn’t hide your guilt.”

“I was young,” he said with a faint smile. “And terrible at lying.”

Some things haven’t changed,” you teased, your gaze flicking toward him. “You’re still terrible at hiding your emotions, even when you’re trying not to show them.”

His smile faded slightly, his composure returning. “I’ve learned to stay within my place, Your Majesty. That’s all that matters.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “Is it?” You asked softly. “Even now?”

The weight of your question hung between them, but Gepard only bowed his head. “I would never presume to question your decisions. You know what is best for the empire.”

You searched his face, you didn't know what you were looking for either, “You're frustratingly loyal, Gepard. It's dull.”

When he didn't respond, you sighed and looked towards the exit, “I have other matters, I will leave first.”

You began walking towards it almost immediately.

“Your Majesty-”

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him over your shoulder.

I… must apologize,” he said, his words careful, deliberate. “For speaking beyond what a concubine should. I know I have no right to ask, but…” He hesitated, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “May I know what will happen to my sister?”

Your expression softened slightly, though your gaze remained sharp. You turned back to face him, a faint smile curving your lips. “Why didn’t you plead for her earlier?”

He straightened, meeting your eyes despite the tension radiating from him. “Because I understand who I am in your court. It isn’t my place to interfere in politics or question your authority.” His voice dropped, quieter now. “But I ask this not as a concubine, not as a subject of the empire, but as her brother. I only wish to know.”

You stepped closer to him, your hands clasped behind you, “You are filled with contradictions, Gepard. A loyal servant of the crown who follows rules yet breaks his bondages when the blood starts to drip.”

He bowed his head, his voice barely audible. “If that is a failing, Your Majesty, then it is mine alone to bear.”

For a long moment, you said nothing. Then, to his surprise, you reached out and lightly brushed his shoulder, a gesture both surprising and disarming.

“You’re more interesting than I gave you credit for,” you said, your tone lighter now. “But don’t mistake this as permission to push boundaries in the future.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Gepard replied, his head still bowed. He could only hope that his moment of vulnerability hadn’t cost him more than he was willing to lose.

**************************************

I'm considering when or if the other part with the rest of men will be posted. I already have an idea lined out in my head for other men, this was meant to be all HSR men anyway, I just posted ahead of time. You'll least expect it tbh.

Oh hello darling. I already posted a follow up explaining how I think they might perceive each other yesterday: https://www.tumblr.com/sir-tuitsum/771149330670354432/an-empress-harem (two steps ahead..?)

First part: here

Third part: here

Notes: I gave her a two day fanfic birthday celebration, off to bed for me now. Unedited, tried to finish before 6pm..

Warning: possible mischaracterization...?

*************************************

Gepard and Sunday

The two were acquainted before their marriage to you due to their high status among nobles already. There was knowledge between them that someone of their background would end up in the royal family even then. It was a silent agreement of sorts, Sunday did not want the Landaus on his or his family’s case and Gepard did not want the Oak family and their other branches on him or his own families’ case. In brief, they're on alright terms with each other, maybe even allies at certain times..

They respect each other enough and even spend time in each other's companies. If Sunday finds himself unavailable, a very rare and odd occasion, Gepard is one of the concubines he would trust to look after the things he cannot in his place until he can resume duties.

In the case of baring daughters for you, things become more complex. Both take great pride in their families and would want the honor of having Landau/Oak blood on the throne for their families’ own benefit. Perhaps this would disrupt the peace they've built with each other when they take their families into account.

Ratio and Aventurine

At first, Dr Ratio’s honest reaction to the blond when he first entered the harem was rather negative. He did not hate him, no. It was only the behaviour of Aventurine that he found a bit nauseating. In turn, Aventurine thought the professor much too serious and arrogant at their first meeting. For a short while their interactions with one another ended in snarky remarks.

Perhaps it was Aventurine’s easy ways of talking his way into your heart, an obvious beauty and smooth talker, it felt like watching a cheap prostitute seduce her way into a man's bed for money. Veritas Ratio did not like Aventurine.

In turn, Aventurine felt a certain way, watching you from a distance as you and Dr Ratio delved into deep talks on what he assumes are heavy topics, knowing Dr Ratio saw him as someone ‘without a talent for deeper meaning’ as the ex-professor would put it, seeing you connect with him on a knowledge level. It felt humiliating.

It was only during one of their snarky back handed comments, where Ratio had made Aventurine spill something nasty from his past that the ex-professor began to see the foreigner in a different light. Everything seemed to change.

Now, you can find the two visiting each other's palaces or conversing normally compared to their first times with each other. One would consider them allies in the harem, perhaps friends? They even encourage you as their Empress and master to visit the other.

In cases of children, they would probably raise their children close with each other and support the other if one ever wanted to push their daughter’s campaign to be the next Empress.

Aventurine and Sunday

Less than a positive relationship. They can behave in front of you but don't depend on it outside of your line of sight. Sunday’s comments can come off as subtly rude enough, Aventurine is more obvious with his insults, this makes Sunday’s masked insults peel off and become more degrading, more so if they are alone.

Their first meeting, after you had taken Aventurine on the night Jade left him with you, you had welcomed him into the harem. Sunday’s job as the Royal Consort and main man meant he had to welcome Aventurine, much to his displeasure. He had less than positive reviews of the IPC and watching one of their dogs seduce his way into your bed for the IPC’s benefit no doubt? Why doesn't he just hand you over to a dog then?

Aventurine thought of Sunday a bit worse than Dr Ratio when they first met. When the Consort showed him around his palace, he felt like a child being lectured on what not to do by his older sister when he was younger. The distaste for him was there, though subtle.

Sunday has no doubt his daughter would become Empress over the.. foreigner's offspring. Aventurine’s only reason for pushing a child of his on the throne would be for the IPC’s benefit, he finds himself rather numb to the idea anyway.

Aventurine and Jingyuan

Jingyuan was the less caring one of the harem he realized. Aside from that Vidyadhara green boy, Jingyuan seemed to care less that Aventurine was there and more for the fact he got called out of his palace to greet him. He wasn't that keen on etiquette either. He simply greeted the blond, yawned a few times, smiled at him weirdly then left the palace. Aventurine didn't mind this, Aventurine was actually one of the first people he enjoyed talking to at all.

Jingyuan cared less, he was only glad to see Aventurine wasn't ambitious in an exactly dangerous way, like that Sunday for example. Still dangerous, he doesn't like the way Aventurine sucks up to you like his life depends upon it, at least he's not like a few who are over the top when they first enter.

JingYuan isn't too ambitious about his possible future daughter becoming Empress. The only thing that would push him to do this would be his own family’s urgings.. well he doesn't care about that either. He wouldn't be fighting with Aventurine over this.

Jingyuan and Dr Ratio

Well, Dr Ratio doesn't have much to say about the lousing concubine. They get along well enough when they do interact which isn't for long.

What surprised Ratio was the man’s surprising ability with knowledge and philosophy. They did sit down once and had a good talk, it was the last thing he expected out of someone so.. lazy but he was impressed.

JingYuan's impression of Dr Ratio was his own mother, then later his guardian, Jingliu. Proper and straight minded. He didn't expect Ratio to last in the harem as long as he did, he was somewhat impressed to see someone with this mindset still breathing. Seeing their agreements when discussing deep topics, they became checker partners as well. Meeting up at random points of day, they battled in checkers and exchanged point of views.

Dr Ratio has no unhealthy thirst for power like the others. JingYuan does not either. Daughters might not ruin the little thing they have going on.

Dan Heng and Jingyuan

JingYuan met the young Vidyadhara when he was a teenager and the boy was younger than he was, he would assume 8 or 10. The boy was withdrawn and didn't speak much to him. It took great effort to have the boy speak. He hadn't realized he had interacted with a descendant of the famous Vidyadharas then. Either way his interaction with the boy dwindled.

Seeing him again, as quiet as ever, prompted JingYuan to rekindle their lost friendship. He spent much time in Dan Heng’s presence, as much as Dan Heng allowed him anyway. You can find them reading a book together, playing checkers, conversing with Jingyuan speaking the most or simply spending time in close proximity with each other.

Dan Heng held mixed feelings towards the male re appearing in his life but to have an ally in this place wasn't a bad thing. He knew of his circumstances and understood his choices must be careful. JingYuan's family were high nobles but surely not high enough to raise suspicion about his loyalties. He wanted to avoid any possible drama. He knew Jingyuan himself had no ill intentions, if his memories serve him right. If time is willing, he would call Jingyuan a friend again.

He is banned from having his offspring with the Empress inherit the throne anyway.

Jingyuan and Gepard

Jingyuan was pleasant company but for someone from a military family that bothered to teach a man fighting techniques as well, you would expect him to be more.. energetic? On his feet? Gepard learned some of it, as old tradition in his family demands, he enjoyed carrying out these exercises with your permission during the day. So why was Jingyuan so..

Jingyuan thinks the Landau boy is too strict, he was younger than him but was already such a nagger, he wondered how a young man could nag this much and still be married. The boy was gentle and sweet yet also too serious, too proper, Jingyuan didn't enjoy being told to do things during the day instead of lazing around.

Anyway, they are far from threats to each other. Gepard is more cautious of Jingyuan than Jingyuan is of him.

JingYuan and Sunday

Too strict. Too controlling. Talks too much. This is all Jingyuan wants to say.

Jingyaun enjoyed doing things on his own time, especially now that he is no longer in Jingliu’s training where things were more rigorous. The great opportunity to be free has been disrupted by Sunday's reign over the harem. He always had something to say. Sunday is more enjoyable when he's not running the harem and enjoying tea with him as they watch The Empress join in on the Annual Hunt. When they're back at the castle and Sunday is back to being a workaholic it's less enjoyable.

Sunday thinks Jingyaun is far too lax for someone of his standing, a relative of a great general who was even taught personally by her. Sunday had the opportunity to be taught female subjects and he took it very seriously, using his proper education to keep this harem in order. If Jingyuan hadn't taken charge one day when he wasn't around, he would think the man is capable of nothing.

Surprisingly, despite the man’s rather lax ways, if there's an issue Sunday trusts JingYuan to run things with Gepard.

JingYuan's family is still impressive, JingYuan can be a threat in the future if he tried to be. He is still on guard for any sign of trickery from the lousing male.

Dan Heng and Ratio

Meeting a Vidyadhara in the flesh felt like something else. Ratio hasn't seen the man when he entered the harem, the male claiming to be sick when it was around the time the other concubines were to accept him in.

Ratio met him in the Imperial Gardens, being told by his servant that seeing the boy around and about outside his palace was a rare occasion. As one invested in history, a Vidyadhara in his vision felt like a great opportunity. He had approached the boy first, not expecting to meet a rather withdrawn individual who seemed to honor his own privacy. They had only talked for a small while before Dan Heng retreated back to his palace, claiming drowsiness. It was a small talk but he could see Dan Heng would make a great partner to talk to, from the way he spoke and carried himself, like a true noble.

Dan Heng could see the ex-professor’s curiosity about his family and liked the fact he didn't make his questions too obvious or too much. It still took a moment for him to warm up to the other, what was particularly interesting was playing checkers in a match with both Jingyuan and Dan Heng.

They didn't see each other much outside of this aside from important events they had to attend with or without their Empress. Whenever he could find a window to talk, he did. When they warmed up, they became a bit more than a person to share simple knowledge with. The good thing was that they could enjoy each other's company in silence.

Ratio and Sunday

Initially not enjoying the way you seemed to start taking Ratio as a partner to speak to over him, Sunday grew to appreciate Rato’s personality. Where he'd usually drag majority harem out with him to distribute charity, it swallowed down to always making sure Ratio was there with him. Ratio seemed to be popular among the people, for previous acts of his before he became one your men in the harem. He put the imperials in a good light and that's all he needed.

Ratio did not personally enjoy Sunday’s company as he thought he would, not even for intellectual debates. He was uncomfortable with the idea of Sunday at times. Maybe it was the large gap in power or the way he spoke. He was glad he was seen in a good light by Sunday at least.

Dan Heng and Sunday

Sunday was more shocked by the choice of twisting ancient rules just to take this Vidyadhara into the harem.

He was particularly strict in his management of this one, as you had twisted the rules too that DanHeng should be kept under good surveillance by the Royal Consort. Even without the orders, Sunday would find himself doing this anyway. It was good to let the disgraced family know that this was no window of opportunity for them to stick their bloodied hands where it no longer belongs and that was keeping a strict eye on Dan Heng.

Dan Heng understood this, if anything he expected it. The bright part of this was that he would not be a threat to Sunday nor his family nor the other branches of it. He was disgraced enough. At worst, he'd get petty jealousy over you sharing your bed with him quite often but nothing would come out of bullying him anyway, he can't rise to power in any way and it would be too much to try this. He hopes Sunday will appreciate this and nothing major will happen in the future between them.

Aventurine and Dan Heng

Aventurine understood something of being ostracized in your own environment. He barely had many interactions with the Vidyadhara but he did feel some form of pity from the younger boy. Dan Heng was usually alone in social gatherings, whenever they spoke it was usually through Ratio making it happen. The boy was pleasant enough but nothing of importance to him.

Dan Heng had no negative feelings towards the blond, understanding this was simply Ratio’s close friend. Their conversations were nothing interesting, mindless chatter to pass time. If anything, Dan Heng didn't like the way Aventurine didn't seem to observe proper etiquette all the time but there's nothing about that to hate him with.

Consider them acquaintances.

Aventurine is more glad Dan Heng doesn't get in the way of what he's here to do.

************************************

In where, some of the honkai star rail men become your concubine. Focused on how you came to meet them and integrate them into your harem.

Men: Sunday, JingYuan, DanHeng, Gepard, Aventurine, Dr Ratio.

Note: no warning, just a birthday gift to my friend <3 thanks for winning the battle of the sperms. probably choppy and feels rushed, wasn't edited but this is for you <33

second part: here

third part: here

***************************************

Sunday

During your years as a princess, of course your husband would need to come from a strong clan to provide you better supporters in your campaign to become crown princess and later Empress. At the age of 9, your father had already gotten to work and convinced your mother, the then Empress, to betroth to the Oak Family's young son who was close in age to yourself.

You met the 10 year old only weeks later, he was as gentle and man-like as you'd expect from a son of a noble family. You easily sensed his tense demeanor around you, he made it his mission to make sure you were pleased the entire time you both were together.

"I will ask the maidservant to give us treats. What do you like?" You took the Oak clan's son for an outing in the Southernmost Imperial Gardens, it was closest to your father's palace as he would've liked it anyway.

"Ah, are you a fan of treats? What treats do you usually like getting?" He stood quite straight with a hand behind his back, as he should be.

You blinked, "Treats are okay. I usually end up eating Honey Cakes I suppose."

"Honey Cakes are sweet, I think I'd like to have one too."

When you asked him why his face scrunched up a bit while taking a bite, he simply brushed it off and said it was sweeter than he was used to. You assumed the maidservant had messed something up in his cake and asked your father to replace her later on.

Either way, Sunday was your personally chosen future royal consort by the former Empress, your own mother, so naturally you held him to high regard.

He was then and now, the very epitome of a perfect consort. He was given praises by both your mother and father quite often for his etiquette and behavior whenever he came by the Imperial Palace. It was enough his family received praises for their efforts in kingdom management by your mother, also with your father praising his family's influence, seeing you as set in stone for the throne being already favored well by your mother.

You married him as soon as the age was appropriate. On the wedding night, he had frigidly arranged old husbands' tales, from using plants said to boost fertility to saying prayers to placing down objects rumored to be favored by the aeons. He had kneeled before the bed after the priestesses and servants had left the private chambers, his hands clasped in prayer.

"The priestesses gave us enough blessings, no?" You jested. You were not surprised of course, years of being together with him had shown you his sweet devout heart towards the aeons. You found it an entertainment to tease him over the years.

"It is good to show the gods your own faith as well, to ask them personally shows your trust in them and pleases them more after all.." you felt almost bad for interrupting his prayer, with the way he glanced up at you afterwards, "perhaps you should join me, we could give honor to Ena for a stable marriage."

It was not uncommon for you both to spend your leisure time praying. Maybe your fondness for him came from the fact he didn't only run to the gods when something went wry. You remembered the first time, when you were but 11 and had visited the Oak's residence without much of an announcement due to having been passing by and decided to stop to visit him, you had been told the young lord was praying as he usually did around his hour. Your better manners told you to wait but in the moment you had made your way to the family's temple and easily made your way inside, as no one would stop an imperial heir so easily.

You found him on his knees, offerings before him as a painting of Ena laid before him on the wall. He was focused, not noticing your entrance. You observed him from where you stood, the relaxed look on his face wasn't normal for you. He was always at attention and the image of sophistication every man wanted to be, composed at all times. The gentleness of him this time wasn't the expected one of his stature, something about the moment almost felt intrusive. You were quiet in your strides towards him, having a closer look at his face now, you assumed it was the dim lighting of the candles but he looked like a different person. You looked forward at the image of Ena then kneeled next to him and clasped your hands together as well. It just felt right.

Praying with the other became something shared between you two when you both found time together.

You shrugged, "I don't see why not."

JingYuan

An incident had occurred during the celebratory banquet in which the pet kitten of a noble had disturbed the peace by causing a servant to lose balance and create a mess. A great disrespect to the royal family, your mother then had chastised the pet's owner publicly and declared the kitten to be skinned alive to teach everyone a lesson of letting creatures run wild in an event like this one.

Well, you found this sentence to be bad, for the kitten at least but your mother's temper was something to be observed carefully, you'd rather not make the evening more unpleasant for her. Or yourself.

It would be three days later when you'd hear noises when you were taking strolls after a long day in your lessons to clear your mind. You had stopped to rest in a pavilion before you'd journey your way back to your palace and heard it. You told your servants to wait for you at the pavilion as you made your way towards the noise as stealthy as one could be, peeking from behind a wall, you saw a boy perhaps older than you kneeling before a bush. There was a bowl next to him and his hand was stretched into the bush.

"pspspspsps-" you had heard from his mouth, ringing confusion bells in your head.

Then you saw it, the pearl white kitten itching out from the bushes only to be attacked with immediate petting from the young boy. That cat looked an awful lot like the cat ordered to die. It shouldn't be, as you saw the peeled skin yourself. It shouldn't be, what person in their right mind would walk straight into a death sentence like this. This definitely wasn't the cat sentenced to death.

So, you watched the should-be-dead kitten make its way toward the bowl of food, meowing in gladness then going right back in to continue eating.

"Does that feel better, Mimi?" The will-be dead boy muttered softly, his tone soft as he ran his hands through the kitten's head.

You felt more uncomfortable when you recognized his face, the amber eyes and the white hair, the black spot on his face-

Jingliu was a popular swordsman hailing from a clan who rose to a respected military family from her great efforts and achievements in conquest. She took in a young distant cousin whose family had fallen on hard times and raised him to take after her and continue her legacy of sword masters. You met this boy after he had accompanied his caretaker to the Imperial Palace for the banquet to celebrate her recent victory. You remembered seeing his face when he had come to greet you and your mother formally before the banquet commenced. You remembered how much your mother revered and praised Jingliu for her military prowess. You recalled thinking the cat faced boy had delicate features.

Military families were highly regarded by the Imperial family. They were considered military when someone received honors and official recognition from the imperial family for carrying out a successful military operation. These families usually aimed to produce soldiers and were determined to ensure all their descendants carry out their military duties for generations. You were curious about Jingliu’s choice to have a man carry on her military legacy though, most unusual.

You looked back at the white haired boy caressing the young kitten like a babe. You admired his idiocy in a sense. His actions were careless and could cause lady Jingliu trouble if he was not careful- this he was not being either. And yet his actions had somewhat touched you.

You also wanted to help the kitten during the banquet, maybe this could be your second chance.

.

.

An invitation was given to the Jingliu's household inviting the now young man to enter a concubine selection for one of the princesses. To his surprise, he was one of the first chosen by her.

Gepard

During your concubine selection, you heard the name Gepard Landau and you immediately decided then and there you would take him as your concubine as well.

In the years before your dynasty sat the imperial throne, the Landaus had supported your family during the civil war. The first Empress of your dynasty had taken a Landau son for her main husband, the royal consort then, the empresses after her had them as apart of their harem for years. This was an easy decision for you.

Moreover, it keeps the Landaus in check, they had weird influence over the imperial military. It would be tricky for you, if Gepard caused any trouble you can't be too strict on him, his family would find way to stick their hands into harem issues and shield him.

Either way, the Landaus are close with the Imperials, this was expected.

With your royal consort next to you, you watched the carriage wheel in with the Landau's sigil, the proud lion, waving from its flag as it pulled up to your palace gates. The custom was that you shared chambers with the concubine on the day they arrive as per tradition. You didn't have much appetite for him. You met the Landau and his older sister when you were still a girl, you had proudly announced to your father the moment he left your presence that he was beautiful and you should have his hand when you grow older, much to your father's pleasure. Whenever the Landau family bought their children around you were always expected to play with them, this was your pleasure, then you had a strong craving to have him.

Out of sight, out of mind. The Landaus preferred to raise their younger offspring away from court. Gepard and his baby sister would spend their time in the countryside with their father from the capital while their big sister would have to handle the duties as the heir apparent in the palace with their mother. Your childish affections dispersed over time. He was now a thing that was a part of the happier times of childhood more than a person you wanted.

Watching the blonde lion step from the carriage, dressed in the colours of his house and the veil on his head, your mind wandered back to the boy you knew. You recalled you barely looked up during the concubine selection and only said yes because she heard his name and accepted him immediately. You never got to look at him.

As per tradition, he kneeled before you every 2 steps he took until he was directly in front of you. At the final kneel, he didn't rise and awaited his new wife’s command to rise, her official welcome of him into her household. Your expression softened, though only slightly. With deliberate grace, you extend your hand toward him, “Gepard of House Landau,” your voice calm but carrying the weight of tradition. “Rise and take your place among those who are my harem.”

He took her hand, her touch steady and warm, yet undeniably regal. As he stood, the space between them felt both vast and impossibly close.

The things that were not said, unspoken words and battered feelings, it was obvious your feelings didn't go as deep as his. The consummation night was not as deep as he wanted it to be. The words, “Tradition demands our Union but I shall not ask any more of you than what you are expected to.”

Control, commands, longing, he did not expect indifference.

Gepard watched you leave, his thoughts a tempest. The girl he had once played with as a boy had grown into a ruler he could not yet fully understand. But for the first time since entering the palace, he felt less like a pawn and more like a participant in a game he was only beginning to learn

Dan Heng

Your history tutor himself held personal vendetta against the Vidyadharas, if you listened to the man explain the history surrounding them, you'd think he was personally there to experience the atrocities.

Though, you did not dislike him for it. The consequences of the old dynasty's actions did not disappear with time.

389 years ago, before the first Empress of your family overthrew the Vidyadhara Dynasty in the 5 Year War, the final ruler of the Vidyadhara was a man. Male rulers were few to none in the country's history, the only reason Dan Feng found himself on the throne of Gold was from a lack of women in the succession. The fertility of the Vidyadharas has dwindled over time until it reached a point they had to turn to a man to inherit the throne. This was their final mistake.

Undoubtedly, this was the worst sovereign to ever step foot on the throne. The first Empress of your dynasty led conquest against the tyrant and in five years time, the Vidyadhara dynasty were no longer legitimate rulers. They were stripped of their lands, titles and wealth, casted off and put under surveillance by your family after the death of

the tyrant. Bans were carried out against them, stay away from the capital, they couldn't hire help without the approval of the new dynasty, the next head of their family was chosen and controlled by your family, etc.

Now, there were two bans you had to be mindful of; Marriage of a Vidyadhara was determined by your family. Vidyadharas are forbidden from entering the royal harem. For the safety of their dynasty never rising again. This wasn't a problem for you until you were approached by an advisor, speaking of a young Vidyadhara being seeked out by a noble for marriage, a noble of importance. Your natural response would be to ban this immediately, you can't mix Vidyadhara blood with your allies. Perhaps it was the late night meeting but you asked for the noble to bring forth his intended bride.

You will continue to blame the late night, the young man, Dan Heng he called himself, a pretty Vidyadhara from the main branch of the family. I'm your own defense, the pretty boy seemed less interested in the idea of the noble woman being wedded to him and his responses seemed almost robotic. In your own defense, his corrupted blood shouldn't be mixing with your allies. It doesn't matter how you took action to stop this, what matters is the marriage was cut off that night. It doesn't need to be bought up that you made conditions to a serious ban your family pressed on since childhood.

As long as Dan Heng was banned from ever becoming the Royal Consort, having any children he produced inherit your throne and his family did not receive the honors the average concubine’s family was given, you could handle this. You won't regret this later.

Aventurine

In your opinion, the Interastral Peace Cooperation had a too heavy grip on the nations, even empires like your own. You recalled a visit of an ambassador from one in your youth, finding the preparations grand enough for a king to welcome one.

Even as an adult, you found their existence in the continent as a pack of dogs being held on a leash by one person. You weren't stupid enough to deny the good they've done to unite nations in peace but you weren't ignorant enough to deny their less honorable pursuits.

Your ascension to the throne naturally led to an ambassador of theirs being sent to congratulate you. It was a natural tradition for them to appease their royals and for the rulers to accept it.

Here in the banquet hall, you observed the other envoys bought with her as they entered. They approached you first with the proper greeting, Jade took the liberty of introducing herself then everyone else. You masked your disinterest until you noticed the blond, you hadn't seen him before, his frame seemed to be smaller and hidden behind the rest. You leaned back in your seat, looking over his form as Jade introduced him.

“Aventurine, a young man in training by myself.”

“What would you train a man for?” You didn't take your eyes off of him, he must've not grown very fast as a child, for whatever reason.

“Whatever a man can understand, there are good ones out there, like him.” She gestured to the blond with a smirk on her face.

You smiled in response to her jest then looked back at Aventurine, “if he is so good, he can tell me about it.” You motioned to the close spots to yourself at your table, inviting the blond to sit with you instead of his colleagues for the remainder of the banquet.

Well, this training, he won't be able to complete it anymore.

Dr. Ratio

Your first tour as Empress took place in the capital, the pride of the Empire. Your last tour had been when your mother was alive, only last year in another smaller city. On the third day of your tour, your royal consort and yourself were set to visit a distinguished university, personally funded by your family for years.

Education was one of your most prized priorities, there was a pull back before your ascension that you sought out to fix when you were Empress. You made it your own issue to get the universities and lower level schools back on track. If your ears were right, others took advantage when the imperial eyes looked away from it.

In an attempt to not disrupt the school day, you met the staff of the university privately and spoke with them about affairs in education.

Though, mid conversation, a man with purple hair had made his way into the room, abruptly so. His eyes locked rather aggressively with some of the educators in the room but he made his way before you, all proper greeting requirements met and rising when you gave him the permission to. He took a seat close by, opening the book in his hand, “It is my ill manners I arrived so late, it was not intentional on my part and I mean no disrespect to you, my liege.” He bowed his head to you as he spoke, you did not respond with anything but a nod.

“If I am so bold, I want to ask for more than just funding to the schools but for funding to the students as well,” he started, “I just think these funds benefit the schools more than the students. Even with the school funded by your majesty’s kind grace, it's not enough to have their needs met to stay in it.”

Well, it was a pleasant change of pace. You've spent the last half hour here with the inhabitants in the room sending you praises for the funds, then asking for more, then praising you, then repeating. Even his tone was too high to be asking that for someone of his standing. Whatever the person next to you said, you didn't hear it, you lowered your chin to look the purple haired man in the eye.

“And what else?”

The amber eyed man's eyes widened slightly as if he had expected a different response from you. He composed himself quickly after, spinning through his books, “I have personal petitions from my own students in here, some I've tried to sponsor myself, I had them write down their troubles-” you found the reactions of the other folks in the room to be almost comedic. Perhaps a less public inspection was needed.

You rose from your seat, “Perhaps you can tell me more about your students and requests, somewhere else, a stroll or a room to ourselves, whatever you desire.” You looked the man over before making your way towards the door, expecting him to follow in tow. You cared less for what the other women in the room had to say at this moment about your sudden leave, you only looked back to make sure the purple beauty was following you.

Yes, you can't wait to learn more about what he has to say and can do.